Tuesday, July 5, 2016

Interview with Violetta Rand, Author of Her Highland Rogue

What made you decide to be an author? A love for literature from a very young age (a gift my mother shared).What do you like best about being a writer? The privilege of sharing my creativity/stories with others. And the freedom to work at home and set my own pace as a professional.

What do you like the least? Not interacting with people every day.How do you think your life experiences have prepared you for writing? In every way. I’ve lived a full and exciting life. That translates into writing gold.

Have you ever felt as if you were being dictated to while you wrote a book--as if the words came of their own accord? I wouldn’t call it dictated to. I don’t think about the words, I just type. That’s an “in the zone” thing.

You’ve written 15 novels and are working on a 16th novel. What’s your favorite time management tip? Write, then write some more. Don’t let anything get in the way, unless you need a day off.

Are you a plotter or a pantser, i.e., do you outline your books ahead of time or are you an “organic” writer? Pantser.If you had one take away piece of advice for authors, what would it be? Constructive criticism makes you a better writer. Take it.Did music help you find your muse with this book? If yes, which song did you find yourself going back to over and over again as you wrote? No. But I love music.

Errol MacRae’s days of gallivanting across the
Highlands are nearing an end. His father’s health has taken a turn for the
worse, and rumors are swirling that the crown intends to transfer ancient lands
into the hands of the MacKenzies, the clan the MacRaes are sworn to defend.
Errol expects to lead his men into battle soon. So he isn’t pleased when his
father instead sends him to retrieve a beautiful flame-haired lass who has fled
into the mountains.

Orphaned as a young girl, Aileana vividly
remembers how the MacRaes rescued her and welcomed her into their clan. For ten
years, she has served them loyally—until the night she’s nearly despoiled by
one of the laird’s captains. Aileana risks her life and her reputation to seek
refuge in the snowcapped peaks of the Five Sisters, the one place that has
always felt like home. But after the strong-armed, strong-willed Errol tracks
her down in a blizzard, she finds herself tempted to risk something even more
dangerous: her heart.

Aileana opened her eyes, confused
by her surroundings. She’d fled the MacRae stronghold after Broc cornered her
in the kitchen, long after the other women had gone abovestairs to sleep. She’d
stupidly volunteered to keep watch over the remaining men in the hall in case
they required more bread and meat—or in Broc’s case, more ale. Once she’d
refilled his cup, even leaving a full pitcher behind for the great beast to
finish off, he stumbled after her, smelling of sweat and spirits, and drooling
on her neck.

She’d known him nearly all her life—at
least for the time she remembered being alive. Before her tenth year, she held
no clear memories. The occasional flash of a face or spoken word, but nothing
that could connect her to a family or place. So she wandered through life
nameless, though the MacRae laird had offered to recognize her as part of his
clan. But whenever she considered it, something inside her warned not to do it.
For once ye denied your name, whether you knew it or not, your fate might
change. And she didn’t want to lose her only chance at true happiness. Deep
down, Aileana knew there was more to her existence than being a bastard.

That’s what half the women within the
MacRae keep called her. Behind her back mostly, but sometimes directly if she
was blamed for burning the bread or spilling wine.

She kicked off the fur covering her from
neck-to-foot, cold air sending a chill down her body. A fire burned at the
opening of the rock enclosure, and she padded over to it, desperate for warmth.
She stared beyond the flames, the world outside covered in white. Winter had
come early to Kintail. And only by God’s grace had she met a woman last night
in the hills. How could she turn down an offer of hot stew and a pallet to sleep
on? So she’d walked quietly with the stranger to her cave.

As soon as she finished eating and
drained her cup of wine, sleep overwhelmed her. That’s all she remembered. And
now she woke up alone. But there was a loaf of bread and a cup of milk on the table
by her pallet, hopefully meant for her to eat. Her stomach growled with hunger.

“Good morning,” Aileana heard as she
reached for the cup.

She turned and met the woman’s smile.
“Thank ye for allowing me to stay here last night. I’m afraid I have nothing to
offer you, no money or goods to trade.”

The woman joined her, picked up the loaf
of bread, then tore it in half. “I don’t remember asking for payment, child.”

“But your generosity must be rewarded in
some way.”

“Aye,” she agreed. “Your company will do
nicely.”

Aileana took a bite and it melted in her
mouth, as tasty as what she cooked every morning in the MacRae kitchens.
“Whatever you wish,” she said. “I prefer staying here. I wasn’t prepared for
the snow. If ye hadn’t found me, I’m afraid I would have perished in the cold.”
Though she had a fur cloak and thick-soled boots, she hadn’t had time to gather
anything else before she ran away.

The woman sat down. “My name is Sgùrr.”

“Aileana.”

The woman studied her in silence, her
dark gaze wandering more than once to her hair. “Who is your father?”

Aileana took another sip of milk, then
put the cup down on the table. The idea of admitting to a stranger that she had
no family was as humiliating as what Broc had done to her. “I don’t know.”

“And why were you roaming the hills
alone? Surely someone will miss ye?”

“Laird MacRae is my guardian.”

“Your mother has passed?”

“I’m afraid I know nothing about my
birth.” She walked the couple feet to her pallet and picked up her cloak.
“Eight years ago a MacRae guard found me in the forest, cold and hungry, close
to death I’ve been told. He bundled me in a blanket and took me home with him.
I’ve lived there ever since.”

“Has the laird been kind and generous?”

“Laird MacRae is not only kind, but
treats me as his own daughter. A day never passes without him greeting me.
Sometimes I wonder what would have become of me if the MacDonalds or MacLeods
found me instead.”

The older woman nodded. “Don’t put much
stock in the affairs of men. Clan feuds are the last thing a lass needs to
worry about. ’Tis your heart and charitable acts that define your character.”

Raised in Corpus Christi, Texas, Violetta Rand spent her childhood
reading, writing, and playing soccer. After meeting her husband in New England,
they moved to Alaska where she studied environmental science and policy before
attending graduate school. Violetta then spent nearly a decade working as a
scientist, specializing in soil and water contamination and environmental
assessments.

Violetta still lives in Alaska and spends her
days writing romance. When she's not reading, writing, or editing, she enjoys
time with her husband, pets, and friends. In her free time, she loves to hike,
fish, and ride motorcycles and 4-wheelers.